Bittersweet Symphony
by Claire D'Aubigne
Summary: Dante arrives to find his brother, who should be dead, raising his son, who he didn't know existed. Language. Spoilers for DMC 1&3.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first official foray into this fandom, though it feels like I've been lurking for a very long time.  
Follows canon of games 1 and 3 loosely, but more or less disregards the other two. Sorry.  
This fic also has AU elements, but then, what fanfiction doesn't?  
I am making absolutely no money from the writing of this fic, and I am in no way affiliated with Capcom, or the seventh son of the seventh son of Capcom. I'm a college student. We don't have money!  
I hope you enjoy this!**

Dante stared up at the house, frowning. It was impressive, but a little old and creepy for his tastes. But the lady at the employment agency had promised that someone lived here, and he didn't have much of a choice but to look for a job somehow.

He scowled, more than pissed off at himself. He was a damn good devil-hunter and he shouldn't have to beg like this. But when the lady at the employment agency innocently used the phrase he'd been using as a password in his own (failed) business, he couldn't help wanting to go and check it out.

And he'd never been one to back away from a challenge, so he knocked on the heavy door and waited.

From the way the woman answered the door before his fist could even fall to his side tipped him off that this was probably not the owner of the house.

_Great. I get to deal with some snobby asshole with servants who actually answer the door for him._ "I'm... uh, looking for the owner of the house?"

"Is he expecting you?"

"It's about a job opening."

The woman nodded and opened the door wider. "Please come inside. I'll send someone to speak with you shortly."

Dante followed her through the dark hall into some room or another, and she left him while she went to go look for her employer. It was a weird room, he thought as he looked around. He half expected to see candles instead of modern lighting.

There was one thing he thought was odd, though. There weren't any mirrors.

There was a picture on the mantle, though, and without thinking much he went over to it, just reaching out to pick it up when the faint sound of steel against steel gave him a half-second warning before a sword came to rest against his throat.

"Don't touch that."

Dante smirked. "Hell of a way to greet your guests," he began, his eyes flicking sideways to see who was threatening him. "Kid," he amended. The boy holding the sword probably hadn't even hit puberty yet.

"Don't call me kid. Especially when I have a sword at your throat."

"You're a cocky little guy," Dante taunted, still completely relaxed. Why worry? He had Rebellion strapped to his back and could get to it in half a second. This kid had nothing on him at all. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

"I'm sure I do," the kid snapped.

Dante was a little surprised at that response. If he didn't know better, he'd think the boy had some secret vendetta or something. He shrugged. "Well, if you don't wanna hear the story-" a quick sidestep, hand behind his back and the familiar sword was there, in his hand, and the fight began.

He was fast, he knew he was, but the kid surprised him. He kept up. He didn't even get winded. And there was something familiar about the way he fought—the same way Dante had been taught to fight, with his brother years ago.

Dante closed his mind against thoughts of Vergil. It wouldn't be good to get distracted in the middle of the fight, because he found that he actually _needed_ to concentrate to keep up with this kid.

...And didn't he look like someone Dante knew?

"You should just give up now. I don't like hurting kids. Especially ones that are too young to have big weapons."

"Stop referring to me as a _child._ I've earned my right to use this sword!"

"Says who, your daddy?"

Judging by the flash in the kid's eyes, it was the wrong thing to say. He barely had time to duck, serious about not wanting to hurt the kid, but he tripped over the edge of a rug and stumbled forward.

"Enough!" another voice cut in-

-but there was already too much momentum and the kid stepped the wrong way, and Dante barely felt the flesh beneath his blade slice in two before his hand was buried in a bloody shirt. The kid's eyes went wide, startled, and he stumbled backward before falling to his knees, looking not at his murderer but at the third person in the room. The one who'd yelled.

The one who shouldn't be looking back at him, or at the white-haired kid on his knees with Dante's sword shoved through his chest. He shouldn't be standing there because Dante had killed him, had watched him die _twice_ and mourned him three times.

"V-Vergil?"

* * *

He didn't ask questions, but he had plenty. He only watched as Vergil stepped forward and caught the kid before he planted himself facefirst in the rug, and then he bent to give Rebellion a hard tug when Vergil asked, and then dumbly followed Vergil as he carried the kid up the stairs because he didn't know what else to do.

Vergil struggled at a closed door, briefly, obviously not wanting to sit the kid down to open the door. He clenched his teeth, and Dante leaned over to open the door for him. Surprisingly, the kid was still breathing.

"Go to the bathroom down the hall. You'll find a box of medical supplies. I need them."

It was on the tip of Dante's tongue to say _You haven't changed a bit, you bossy bastard,_ but he bit his lip and turned around, knowing that this was about saving the kid he'd accidentally impaled on his own sword. He'd have time to argue later. Sighing, he grabbed the box and started back down the hall.

It hit him hard all of the sudden, why the kid looked so familiar to him. He'd just...

"Shit," he cursed softly, nearly dropping the box he was holding. He'd just impaled his brother's kid. His own nephew. "Not a great way to start a family reunion," he muttered, tightening his hold and walking a little faster.

Vergil had managed to get the boy out of his soiled shirt, and was sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the kid up so he wouldn't get too much blood on the sheets. The kid was alive, remarkably—and even more surprising, he was conscious. Barely.

"Verg-"

"Not now, Dante. Help me with him," Vergil requested, nodding to the boy.

Dante didn't want to make things worse, so he obeyed. "What's his name?" he asked quietly. His eyes flicked to the kid's, startled to find them focused on him. Losing that focus, but the boy was trying.

"Dorian. I'll make your introductions later."

Dorian. It sounded like a name Vergil would put on a kid. Dante vaguely remembered Vergil hauling around some book about a Dorian when they were kids.

He wondered if the kid—Dorian—was surprised to see that he and Vergil looked alike. Dante held him up while Vergil carefully wrapped gauze around the wound that didn't look as bad as Dante thought it would. Come to think of it, Vergil was remarkably calm for his kid just getting slashed.

But then again, knowing Vergil, the boy had a demon for a mother and he'd be able to heal, anyway.

His brother finished what he'd been doing and Dorian closed his eyes, letting Vergil carefully guide him down to the bed. He watched as Vergil carefully covered the boy with a blanket, and then he finally turned to Dante.

"We can talk outside. You can tell me what you're doing here."

Vergil didn't shut Dorian's door completely, leading Dante back downstairs and sending a maid upstairs to sit with the boy. "Let me know if there's any change," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Dante," Vergil began, settling back in his chair. "You finally show up. I was beginning to wonder if you would."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dante spat back. "How was I supposed to know to come to you? I thought you were dead, moron!"

"You weren't supposed to come for me. You were supposed to come for Dorian," Vergil explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's waited almost as long as I've had custody of him."

"Look, Verg, how was I supposed to know you had a kid? Like I said, you were supposed to be dead... I'm sorry I stabbed him though, it was an accident..."

"What?" Vergil asked, struck dumb by something Dante had said.

Dante frowned. His brother wasn't this stupid. "Your son. I stabbed him. I'm sorry."

"Dorian isn't my son, Dante."

"But he looks just like..."

"He's _your_ son."

Silence reigned over the room for... God, it seemed like forever to Dante. "Shit," he mumbled softly. Vergil's gaze never left his face. "...Shit."


	2. Chapter 2

It changed everything. Dante leaned against the wall in his _son's_ room, watching him sleep, wondering if he hoped Dorian would wake up or that he'd stay asleep for a while and let this sink in. Beside him, Vergil watched, his hands relaxed at his sides.

Dante wanted to laugh. A kid. He shows up looking for a job and finds his brother raising his kid. And all he could think was _I told Mundus to say hello to my son, but I didn't think I'd actually_ have _one._

And speaking of Mundus, how did...? Dante glanced over at Vergil, who was watching him, and decided it probably wasn't the best time to ask. _Oh, by the way, how did you escape the control of that angry demon who had you brainwashed, anyway?_

"How did you end up with him?" Dante asked instead. "I never thought you'd have anything to do with any kids of mine, if you were even alive..."

Vergil stiffened and looked away, his gaze eventually falling on the sleeping boy. "He was five months old and in an orphanage, and I didn't think that any grandson of Sparda deserved to be raised in ignorance of his heritage. He's part devil, after all, and it _does_ make a difference."

"How do you know he's mine, then? If he was in an orphanage like you said, then it's not like he'd have a dad listed on his birth certificate."

"Can't you smell him?"

Dante shook his head. "_Should_ I smell him? I don't think it's going to go over well if I just stroll over and bury my nose in his hair." It made sense, though, that Vergil would be able to smell something in Dorian that identified him, since Vergil spent twenty years in hell. He would have probably learned a lot of things about his demonic side that Dante never had.

Vergil smirked, probably having the same thought. "He smells like you. It's not as potent, but it's there. That's how I found him."

"Does he know?"

Vergil nodded. "I doubt he would have fought you in the study like that if he hadn't known exactly who you are."

Dorian stirred, and Dante shut his mouth, watching as the kid moaned, then sighed. "Uncle Vergil?"

"I'm right here," Vergil replied, moving to stand closer to the bed so Dorian could see him. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone stabbed me in the heart with a sword," Dorian answered. "Am I gonna be able to get up from this one?"

"I think that if you were going to die, you would have done so already. You should rest now, Dorian. The sleep will help your body heal."

"I'm sorry I started a fight inside the house."

"I think I can overlook it. Once."

Dorian smiled, his eyes drifting closed. Vergil didn't say anything else, turning to walk out the door, leaving the maid in charge again. Dante knew without having to be told that if he wanted to talk at all, he had to follow Vergil. He glanced at the boy sleeping on the bed and sighed, then turned to follow his brother outside.

"Guess that means you're going to tell me what I need to do, right?" Dante asked dully, remembering how his brother used to love bossing him around.

But Vergil just raised an eyebrow. "No," he replied. "Since you're here, and the maid said it was about a job, I can assume you're out of one. I'll let you stay, if that's what you want—but I suggest that you think of your son before you make a decision. If you stay, then you're making an effort to be a father to him. If you go, then I hope you do it before Dorian wakes up."

Like Dante could make a decision to stay without thinking of the boy in the next room. Vergil was right, he _did_ need the job, and even though he hadn't been told what it was, he could at least try to adjust. And he knew without Vergil telling him that if he walked out now, he'd never get a chance to know the kid he accidentally fathered.

And if Vergil could raise a baby, Dante could definitely handle an adult. He nodded his head, signaling that he'd stay. At least for a little while.

Vergil called for another maid—how many people did he have in this household, anyway? "My brother's going to be staying with us for a while. Please take his things to the room across from Dorian's."

"Yes, sir."

Vergil didn't seem too eager to start a conversation, and Dante floundered in the silence for a few minutes. He and his brother hadn't always been enemies—he remembered that they'd been best friends as kids, and up until their mother died, they did everything together. He remembered that Vergil had grown up quickly, stepping into their father's over sized shoes when he'd finally gotten too old to go on. It wasn't until their mom died that Vergil changed.

_You just left one day,_ Dante wanted to say to his brother. _You didn't even wait to say goodbye, and the next time I saw you, you just wanted to fight._

But he didn't. "I suppose you told him that I didn't want him, didn't you?"

"I didn't say anything. When he got old enough to ask, I told him that I didn't know who his mother was and that I wasn't sure if you knew about him or not. I said we hadn't spoken since we were young and that there wasn't anything else to tell. Eventually he stopped asking about you."

"No offense, Verg, but you don't seem like the type of guy to just raise a kid. I know you were always yelling about responsibility and all that, but you didn't have any obligation..."

"I was obligated because he's my nephew. In the absence of his parents, shouldn't his well-being fall to the next of kin? I was the only family he had that knew anything about him." His twin paused, briefly. "But I can't take credit for raising him. He had a nurse, and then a tutor when he got old enough."

"He doesn't still have a tutor?"

"All of his tutors resigned. They said there isn't anything else they can teach him."

For the first time, Dante heard a bit of pride in Vergil's voice. "So he's smart."

"And cocky, like you."

Dante grinned, carefree for the first time in the conversation. "And good-looking. He takes after me there, too."

"You haven't changed a bit."

"I can't say the same for you. Last time we met, you didn't look so great." He just said it to test his brother, really, to see how he'd feel about talking about it.

Vergil's face darkened and what had almost become playful banter between the estranged brothers stopped immediately. "I have business to take care of. Feel free to look around, but don't break anything. You'll be staying here now, so you might as well act like it."

He'd screwed up his chances again. Vergil walked past him, radiating disapproval, so wildly Dante turned around. "Hey, Verg."

Vergil stopped walking, but he didn't turn around and he didn't speak.

"Thanks. For taking care of my kid. I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms." _Any of the three times I've thought you were dead,_ Dante added silently.

"...You're welcome."

"There's only one thing I would've done different. Other than do it myself."

"What's that?" Vergil asked, sounding a lot like he didn't really want to know the answer.

"I wouldn't have named him Dorian."

Vergil snorted. "I know that. But if I'd picked a name with your tastes in mind, we'd be calling him Iron Man and not something decent. Good night, Dante."

"'Night, Verg." Dante didn't bother to correct his twin. He wouldn't have named his son Iron Man, or Spiderman or Superman or anything like that. There wasn't any superhero in the world who deserved the honor of having a son named after him. Ever since Dante had grown up a little, where he'd realized what his priorities should have been, he always thought that if he had a son, he'd name him after the person who meant the most to him, who'd soothed him after he had nightmares and the family member whose loss was the hardest to bear.

Vergil.

* * *

Dorian woke up with his chest burning like fire and with an attitude that he knew had probably nothing to do with the knife wound through his ribs. He groaned softly, opening his eyes and meeting the eyes of a maid that his uncle had probably asked to watch over him.

It was Janice. He tried to smile for her, but it was kind of tough, given the circumstances.

"Master Dorian, I'm glad to see you're awake. Can I get you anything?"

"Um... a glass of water, and some painkillers if I'm allowed to have them," Dorian asked. The cook and the two maids had been in the household for longer than he had, and he had a secret soft spot for his uncle's hired help. "Is my uncle still here?"

"Of course he is. Should I send him in to you?"

Dorian nodded. He knew he'd apologized earlier, but he had to do it again. His uncle had found that rug in the den on a business trip, and Dorian knew it was expensive. And he knew he'd broken one of the number one rules in the house—no fighting indoors, ever.

But Dorian had forgotten the rules when he happened to walk by the den and see _that man_ standing there. The man he'd bothered his uncle about even though he could see that it hurt. The man he'd waited for every day until the day he turned twelve. Dorian couldn't complain about Uncle Vergil, who'd done everything for him without asking for anything in return, but he couldn't help but hope that somewhere, his father was looking for him, or at least would find him eventually.

And it took him twelve long years to realize that life wasn't a fairytale like that. People didn't just come strolling through the front door because you wanted them to and that in reality, his father probably didn't care one way or another about his existence. After that, he stopped looking and stopped wanting to meet his father.

Then, Dante Sparda had the audacity to walk through their front door and stand in the den like he didn't have a care in the world. And Dorian got angry, or worse than that, and all he wanted to do was slit his father's throat. So he'd tried.

And he'd failed. He was too weak.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and the anger flaring up inside him, he struggled to sit up.

"You shouldn't do that."

"Uncle Vergil," Dorian replied, glad to see that his only relative—well, not anymore—was still around.

Vergil held a glass of water in his hand, which he sat down on Dorian's bedside table, along with two pills. Dorian had never been gladder to see painkillers in his entire life. Turning to his nephew, Vergil helped him sit up and settle back against his pillows. "How are you feeling?" Vergil asked, handing over the water and pills at last.

Dorian shrugged. "Better, I guess. I'm sorry about bleeding on your rug."

"Rugs are replaceable, Dorian. Your life is not."

"Yes, Uncle Vergil."

"You shouldn't pick fights with people when you're not sure what they can do," Vergil lectured. "I understand that you were—are—angry, but you can't lose your head in delicate situations. You have to stay calm, focused, through the whole battle."

"I'll work harder," Dorian promised. He wasn't mad that his uncle was lecturing him—it had taken a while, but Dorian had learned that lectures and coaxing him to practice harder was his uncle's way of making sure that he could stand on his own when the time came.

A rare smile graced his uncle's face. "If he hadn't tripped, and if you hadn't allowed that daddy comment to go to your head and blind you to the battle, you might have disarmed him. You should feel proud of yourself that you have the ability to make it that far."

If his uncle was handing out compliments like that one, his swordsmanship must have been exceptional. Dorian grinned back, or tried to; it felt more like a grimace of pain. "Is he still here?" he asked.

His uncle nodded. "He wants to stay and get to know you. It's what you wanted when you were younger, isn't it?"

"People change," Dorian muttered.

"He didn't know about you, and I should have done a better job of trying to locate him. It's as much my fault as his."

Dorian scowled. Why would Uncle Vergil say that? "Fine. I'll give him a chance—but only one."

"Then I'll go get him for you. But, Dorian, do _not_ overexert yourself, under any circumstances. Do you understand?"

He nodded, and took a deep breath and held it while his uncle went to find his father.


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy crap, guys! I'm used to tiny fandoms, so I'm thrilled that people like this.  
As promised, here is part three. Enjoy it!**

Dante sat on the bed he'd slept in—he shouldn't think of it as his, because this wasn't his house and he didn't know how long he'd stay—and twirled Rebellion absently in his hand. He was waiting for someone to tell him the kid—Dorian—was up so he could go and at least try to talk.

He supposed that he should get used to the idea of giving Rebellion up. Kind of like a family heirloom... he liked the idea of that. His dad had given it to him, and now he could do the same. Too bad it was his favorite sword.

It wasn't like he had a shortage of swords, though—in the rough bag he'd been carrying with him, he had both his father's Force Edge... and Vergil's Yamato. And _that_ had taken him a long time to track down, but he'd finally gotten it... and now he was glad for that, because he could give it back to its real owner.

He wondered what Vergil would think about that.

"Dante."

His eyes snapped up, meeting Vergil's as he stood in the open doorway.

"Dorian's asking to see you."

"How's he doing?" Dante asked. He wasn't sure he was ready for this—wasn't sure he'd ever be ready, really—but at least he should know what to expect when he went in there.

"He's still sore, but he's healing. He's awake and able to talk—and he's still fairly angry," Vergil warned. "I've told him not to push it until he heals a little more, but as his father, it's your responsibility to see that-"

"-he doesn't hurt himself?" Dante finished dryly. "I don't know what you expect me to do. The kid hates me."

"He can't hate you. He doesn't know you yet." Vergil's lips twitched.

Dante realized what he was trying to say and sighed. "You really hate me that much, Vergil?"

"Go see your son, Dante. You and I will talk later." He sounded as tired of making that promise as Dante was of hearing it. Every time they got close to talking about what they really needed to discuss, it didn't happen. It was looking like it wasn't going to.

For now, Dante left the sword on the bed and headed across the hall, barely aware of Vergil pulling the door closed behind him. "Are you gonna come?" Dante asked, pausing outside of Dorian's closed bedroom door.

Vergil hesitated—it was obvious that he didn't intend on doing it, but in the end he sighed. "I suppose I could. I did promise you an introduction, after all." He stepped forward, knocking on Dorian's door and then pushing it open.

Dante felt grateful and disgusted with himself at the same time. He hadn't needed his big brother as a buffer for a long time, and he hadn't wanted it then. He didn't want it _now_, to be honest, but he couldn't deny the fact that Vergil knew a lot more about this boy than he did. It couldn't hurt to defer to Vergil's judgment in this situation—and it might score him some brownie points, too.

It hit him hard, all of the sudden, that he was about to be introduced to his _son_, and he didn't have the first damn clue what made the kid tick. He'd been in the room a couple of times but he hadn't exactly been thinking about looking at decorations or anything that might clue him in.

"Dante, this is my nephew, Dorian. Dorian, my brother Dante." If he found it odd to be introducing a son to his father for the first time after sixteen years, he masked it well. Dante could have believed that this was his sister's kid, except for the fact that he didn't have a sister.

"Remember what I said about overexerting yourself, Dorian. Dante, be careful that you don't make him too angry. He's still healing."

Dante nodded, barely noticing as his twin left the room. He smiled at the kid. Dorian raised an eyebrow and sighed, clearly not impressed so far, so Dante perched on the edge of his bed. "So..." he began, though he didn't know how to finish the sentence and trailed off.

"You're not much like Uncle Vergil," Dorian said bluntly.

"Did you expect me to be like him?"

Dorian shrugged. "I knew you guys were twins. But I'm kind of glad you're not."

Dante grinned at that, the kid's honest admission making him feel a lot better about this whole situation. "Vergil's always been the mature one. I was always the one that needed a slap on the back of the head every so often. Kind of like when I need to be told how to talk to my kid."

"I'm not a kid," Dorian snapped. "I've already told you that."

"C'mon, surely you have a favorite toy or something?"

"I'm sixteen years old, you dumb fuck; I _don't_ play with toys." Dorian's temper rose, like Dante had expected it to, because he thought you could learn a lot about a person by how they reacted when they were pissed off.

Like now—Dorian wasn't going to back down from a challenge, even in a new, awkward situation. Dante liked that. He liked the honesty, too, even if it was a little rude.

"_Rude," whispered Vergil in shock, who'd been reading his book standing up, swaying a little as he turned the pages. "Mom would wash your mouth with soap if she heard you say that."_

Yeah, he'd said stuff like that at sixteen, too. "Relax, kid, or you're gonna have your uncle on my ass. There are toys for grown-ups too. I'll show you a couple of mine when you're feeling up to it." He meant Ebony and Ivory, of course, his two favorite ladies. "Did Verg ever teach you how to shoot a gun?"

"Uncle Vergil-" slight emphasis on Vergil's full name, which meant he'd have to get the kid used to the nickname- "doesn't like guns much, so he doesn't keep them around. I'm good with a sword, though. Usually."

Dante didn't smile at that. His gaze fell to the bandage still wrapped around the kid's chest. "Hey, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to stab you like that..."

Dorian huffed. "I know you didn't. I should have anticipated that you'd be clumsy and that we were fighting indoors... and that I was pissed and reacted accordingly. I knew you didn't know me, and that I wasn't ready to fight you, but I wanted to."

"Understandable," Dante replied. He was struck by how much Vergil had rubbed off on this boy. After the stream of curses, he hadn't expected a complete one-eighty. "I probably would've done the same thing."

There was awkward silence for a while, and it was Dante's turn to figure out what the conversation should turn to but he didn't have any idea what to say. He and this kid... they didn't really have much in common. "So, sixteen, huh?" he asked at last.

Dorian nodded curtly. "I guess that means you don't know who my mother is, do you?" he asked.

Dante wondered if the kid had secretly been holding onto some romantic ideal that his parents were together and happy somewhere, even if it was without him. He remembered how shitty it was to be sixteen—and he also remembered that his parents had been nothing but faithful to each other from the start. Even after his father's death, his mother hadn't even looked at another man. He wasn't setting such a great example.

"No, I don't."

"Didn't figure you did." Dorian sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "But I guess it doesn't hurt to ask."

Dante tried to remember who he'd been with sixteen years ago. Unfortunately for him, it had to be a list at least as long as his arm, if not longer. It had taken him a long time to get over the loss of his brother _again_, and he hadn't been very mature about how he handled it.

He remembered a lot of alcohol being involved—especially since he had a natural high tolerance to liquor; his body burned it faster than he could drink it, usually—and a lot of one-night-stands that always seemed to end the same way. Waking up on a bed in some sleazy motel or whorehouse, his pants thrown somewhere across the room and evidence of what he'd been doing the night before dried on his thighs, because he never bothered to clean up. Sometimes, he'd have a hangover, but it was always gone by noon.

If he hadn't gotten thrown out on his ass for something stupid, like triggering as he came. He remembered that happening a few times, and he always thought it was funny but the girls never really did.

It'd be pretty hard to find Dorian's mother in _that_ list of possibles.

"I don't really want to see her anyway," Dorian said softly, cutting into his memories. "She left me in an orphanage and didn't even try to find any family for me. At least you have an excuse. Kind of."

"Hey, I'm gonna stick around for a while and try to fix that." _I've got a lot to fix,_ he added silently, thinking of Vergil, too. "I've gotta fix that thing about you not knowing how to shoot. And hey, maybe we can actually fight outside this time. Once you get patched up, anyway. Is that okay with you?"

Slowly, Dorian nodded. Dante noticed that his eyelids were beginning to droop a little—from the painkillers, maybe—and he jumped on that. "You should get some rest. Work on letting your body heal that wound," he added, nodding at Dorian's chest. "Maybe when you wake up again we'll trick your uncle into playing Monopoly or Scrabble or something. How does that sound?"

"Board games?" Dorian asked, sounding skeptical.

"You've never played? What do you guys do around here anyway, watch paint dry?" Dante replied, for once genuinely surprised to hear that. He and Vergil had been Monopoly tycoons as kids; they'd owned six or seven different versions of the board: the _I Love Lucy_ one, _Monopoly Junior, Fantastic Four..._ he could probably keep going. But the original had always been their favorite. They'd played Scrabble too, with their mom, so Dante was surprised that Vergil hadn't kept that tradition going.

"Well, no. We play chess sometimes."

Dante snorted. He remembered, vaguely, his father teaching both of them how to play. He'd never had the head for it, but Vergil loved that game, too, and practiced constantly. "Well, you leave your uncle to me, and you get some sleep, okay kid?"

Dorian nodded, his eyes already drifting closed, and Dante shut the door to his bedroom with a small, self-satisfied smile. It could have been a lot worse.

* * *

Vergil tried very hard to relax, and visibly stopped himself from looking at the clock again. He didn't hear any noises coming from upstairs, which he assumed was a good thing. At least Dante wasn't upsetting Dorian too much.

And then he heard a door open and close and his eyes snapped down to the book that was spread open on his lap. He was frustrated with himself for caring so much. Dante was back now, and if he injured his own child then that was his problem, not Vergil's.

He knew that he and Dante were going to have to talk eventually; they'd left a lot of things unsettled between them. He knew without having to be told that Dante resented his leaving so many years ago, and that his brother didn't understand. At the time, Vergil thought that it was _important_ that Dante didn't understand.

He'd told himself he was leaving to make himself stronger, and to make Dante stronger too—his brother had never really learned to handle things well, and Vergil knew he couldn't count on himself always being there to get Dante out of scrapes. If he was being honest with himself, though, he left for the sole purpose of becoming powerful enough to protect his brother. He'd promised his father that he'd protect the family, and he'd already allowed his mother to be killed...

Eventually, he'd have to explain himself to his brother, but he hoped he wouldn't have to do it today.

He glanced up as Dante came bouncing down the stairs, cheerful as ever, giving him a big grin that let Vergil know how it had gone upstairs. To be honest, it probably wasn't that great, but it never took much to make Dante happy. At least Dorian had talked to him at all.

"Hey Verg, do you have any board games around here?"

Vergil knew without asking which games Dante meant. "I think there might be, in the attic. Are you going to play with Dorian?"

Dante nodded. "And you too, if I can convince you. It's been a long time since we've played together."

"I haven't played for a long time," Vergil replied coolly. He meant to meet his twin's eyes, but didn't quite make it past his neck. _Was that...?_

"Neither have I, and Dorian's never played. It's not like you'll be handicapped from the beginning."

"Nobody plays with you because your luck means you'll inevitably lose." Vergil's eyes never moved, so in frustration, he closed them. "Nevertheless, I think I'll sit this one out. Feel free to find the boards, though." Agreeing to play would mean one more thing bringing him closer to his brother. One step closer to the impending discussion.

He opened his eyes again, looking straight at Dante and nothing else. And Dante, perhaps more intuitive than Vergil gave him credit for, reached inside his shirt and pulled out the amulet he'd been looking at. Dante smirked in satisfaction, obviously glad to have figured it out, and started to work the chain from around his neck. "You want this back?" he asked. Vergil did not reply.

Dante tossed, the chain and jewel flying through the air before landing directly in the open book. Vergil stared down at it. "Why are you giving it back to me?" he asked at last. He didn't want to pick it up, because he shouldn't have it at all.

His brother shrugged. "It's yours. Mom wanted you to have it. And I have my own," he added, digging the second half out of his shirt and holding it up. "Gonna go find those games now. Have fun with your books, Vergil."

Vergil reluctantly picked up the amulet, glad to feel its familiar weight in his hand again. He twirled it thoughtfully, then dropped the chain over his head and stood up. "Dante," he called at his brother's retreating back. "I've changed my mind. I'd enjoy beating you at Monopoly."

Dante's grin lit up his face like a beacon, and Vergil smiled back, tightly. His brother had made the first step in repairing their tattered relationship, and if Dante could try, so could he.


	4. Chapter 4

"You always forget about Baltic and Mediterranean," Vergil said as he collected Dante's outrageous rent for the fifth or sixth time. "Just because they're cheap in the beginning doesn't mean that you can't win with them, Brother."

Dante grumbled in response. He hated losing, but he couldn't blame anybody but himself. He just had shit luck, that was all. It was never going to change.

At least this time, Vergil wasn't that well off either. Surprisingly, Dorian owned one entire side of the board—everything from St. Charles Place to New York Avenue, _including_ the railroad which he'd tricked Dante into trading him.

Dorian rolled a ten—double fives—moved his Scotty dog to Indiana Avenue and paid Dante 36. Lucky for Dante, since Indiana was the only red property he owned that wasn't mortgaged. He rolled doubles twice more and moved to jail.

Vergil's roll gave him a chance card. "Advance to GO," he read out loud, moving the top hat to the space.

Dante threw double sixes and figured that would probably be the start of his own trip to jail. He moved his cannon to Pennsylvania Railroad (more rent to Dorian) and rolled a three and a two. "_Score_," he breathed, safe for now on "free parking" and earning the 1800 that had accumulated in the center of the board.

"You know, kid, Verg and I had a game going for four solid days once," Dante said casually. He watched as Dorian stiffened slightly from the 'kid' remark, but he didn't say anything.

Dorian rolled and moved, and then glanced back up. "Four days? You don't seem patient enough."

Vergil smirked. "He isn't patient enough. That's why we got into trouble for playing in the middle of the night."

"_Verg. Hey, Verg."_

_"We're supposed to be sleeping, Dante," Vergil whispered back, but he rolled over to look across the room at his younger twin._

_"C'mon, please? Mom and Dad are sleeping, and I know you wanna."_

_"One roll," Vergil agreed, sliding out of his bed and onto the floor._

_"Five rolls," Dante wheedled._

_Vergil considered. "Three," he said. "That's all, though."_

_"Deal."_

_But the three turned into six, and the six turned into twelve, and before they knew it, it was three am and their door was creeping open. It was their father, a robe thrown over his flannel pajama pants, and he didn't need to turn the light on to see what they were doing._

_"Boys," Sparda growled, a warning in his voice. "I'm going to close my eyes and count to five, and if you're not in your beds by then..."_

_There was a scramble for their beds, each twin taking a nosedive into his blankets. Their father wasn't a mean man by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn't want to push it. As soon as __their heads hit the pillows, Sparda came forward, carefully stepping over the Monopoly board to pull the blankets up and smooth them out. "If I catch you up at this hour again, I won't be this nice. Understood?"_

"And I think we were both glad to see that game end," Vergil finished with a hint of a smile.

Dante grinned and nodded towards Dorian, who'd nodded off in the middle of their story. He slid smoothly off of the bed, where he'd been sitting cross-legged to play the game, and reached to help Vergil slide the board off of the bed without moving any of the pieces. They sat it all on Dorian's dresser, then slipped out, flipping the light off before closing the door behind them.

It was later than Dante thought it would be. Outside, it was dark, but he wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet. He glanced over at Vergil, wondering what his plans were.

Vergil caught his gaze and sighed. "Come on, we can go downstairs and discuss why you're looking for a job."

Dante had forgotten that was why he was here. He'd found a kid instead of a job and it slipped his mind. But it was at least a _discussion_, and if Dante talked, maybe Vergil would follow his example.

"Did you actually post that job opening?" Dante asked as Vergil led him into the study. He hesitated before going in there—he'd stabbed his son there, after all, and there was bound to be a lot of blood on the rug.

He was pleased to see, though, that the rug was missing. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since Vergil had always been picky about cleanliness. There was another rug in its place.

"That one came from Iran," Vergil said as he noticed where his brother was looking.

"You went to Iran?"

"My work takes me all over the world. That's how I found Dorian—I wasn't looking for him; it just happened."

"What do you do?" Dante asked. Knowing his twin, it'd be something completely boring like competitive worldwide stock-marketing or-

"Devil hunting, like you did." Vergil smirked at the shocked look on Dante's face.

"Aww, Verg, getting soft in your old age?" Dante asked, once he'd recovered from the surprise. He'd never expected that his brother would be doing something like that. Especially since he was more likely to side with the demons than the humans. "Doesn't seem much like something you'd do."

"There were several reasons," Vergil replied carelessly. "I started because I have formed a rather personal vendetta against Hell."

Dante could see why. Vergil had been in Hell for seven years before Dante saw him again as Nelo Angelo. He didn't know how long it had taken his brother to get back out again.

"Partially, I was bored. There is no point in having extensive knowledge in swordplay if you are just going to let it rot in your head. Humans don't make good partners—there isn't enough of a challenge. After I found Dorian, I expanded my trade to include exorcisms—which is mostly what I do now."

"Exorcisms?" Dante repeated incredulously. "Why? There isn't any fight involved, and the Church is around for that kind of stuff."

"You know how difficult it is to be granted an exorcism in most religions," Vergil countered. "Most are written off as insanity or mental illness. I'm paid well to keep my mouth shut and let the institutions take credit for my work. Besides that, I enjoy using intellectual power to battle devils as well as physical strength."

"I posted the job offer for several reasons. First, I knew you'd come here if you heard it. Secondly, Dorian wants to join me in hunting and he's too new to be trusted on his own."

"You were looking for me?" Dante asked skeptically. "Vergil, I've been in the same place for twenty years. If that's what you were doing, you did a shit job of it."

"And how do you think you would have felt if I'd just walked into your shop with your son on my hip? You thought you'd killed me."

"I would have been overjoyed to see you again, you pompous asshole," Dante snarled, his hands balling into fists. "Do you even know how much time I spent beating myself up over your 'death'? And then I show up here and find you alive and well and raising my goddamn _kid_, who hates me because he thinks I abandoned him or some shit."

"Dante-"

"Shut up, Vergil, I'm not finished yet! You don't have any fucking _right_ to lecture me anymore. You lost that right when you took off after Mom died." Dante watched Vergil's face darken and took some perverse satisfaction in that. He stood up, jamming his finger in his brother's face. "You just take off and the next time I hear from you it's 'power' this and 'fuck all humans' that! You want to be so much like Daddy it's pathetic. You think he would have tried to kill off his own family for power? You think he'd be _proud_ of you for trying to fucking _unleash Hell_ on the world he wanted to protect?"

Vergil didn't say anything, and he didn't try to stop Dante's tirade or remove the finger from his face. Dante laughed cruelly, a short, clipped bark that almost startled him. "Despite all the trouble he's caused, he'd probably think that you spending all that time in Hell was a good punishment for that fucking tower in the middle of the city stunt!"

"I don't think you entirely understand my reasons for leaving," Vergil said softly. Beneath the calm exterior, he looked a little wounded by Dante's accusations.

"Then by all means, _big brother_, explain them to me. You never have thought I was smart enough to actually understand anything you said to me, anyway." He sat down, hard, hoping that Vergil would actually listen to him for once and that he hadn't just ranted for nothing.

Though he felt better. Maybe he should get pissed off more often.

"I've never thought you were stupid, Dante. You have the subtlety of a freight train, you're careless and impatient, but you're far from stupid." Vergil sighed, looking around the room before finally turning back to Dante. "I wanted to become powerful-"

Dante snorted, cutting his brother off. "Same old Verg," he snapped angrily. "It's like a broken record with you. Always about power and damn the consequences."

"I wanted to become powerful," Vergil repeated calmly, "because I made a promise to our father that I didn't feel I could keep without more help."

That shut Dante up. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his forehead. "What was it?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Maybe I'll tell you another time."

They were silent for a while. Dante didn't know what to say. He'd never considered that Vergil had other motives for taking off—and now he just wanted to know what they were. But he didn't want to push it, because he didn't know how Vergil would react to having bad memories forced on him and he didn't think he had it in him to kill his brother again.

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you here looking for a job?" Vergil asked, relaxing a little when he realized that Dante was done yelling.

Dante smiled tightly. "Willing to ask questions but not answer any? I'll tell you if you tell me how you got back here."

Vergil nodded.

"Okay. Well, Lady and Trish got kinda tired of putting up with my bullshit, I guess. I was in debt up to my ass and they said they were fed up because all I did was eat pizza and drink and fuck—well, they said sleep around, but it's the same thing—and they said they weren't sticking around to help me kill myself. I said, that's all I've ever done and they said it wasn't supposed to be a form of therapy and did I want to _talk about it._" Dante sneered as he remembered the conversation. "We got into it. I guess I won, because they left, and when I finally got myself straightened out I realized I didn't know much about running a business."

"So that's it? You're a poor manager."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Dante sighed, but realized that his twin was teasing and didn't argue for once. "Your turn."

"I fear it's less thrilling than you think it is. You defeated... Nelo Angelo... and left Mundus weak and near death, so it was easy to just walk out."

Dante noticed Vergil's reluctance to refer to himself as the knight he'd defeated. Apparently, he still had some bad memories, or was just ashamed to be brainwashed. Either way, he made a mental note to remember it. "That's all you're going to tell me?"

"I suppose I should thank you," Vergil replied, shifting. "I know it wasn't easy. Losing to Mundus in the first place was what put me into that situation. I was weak, and I know you used our father's power to finish the job. I know you had that woman who looked like Mother to help you out."

"Trish," Dante corrected. "Is that what happened to you after that tower thing?"

"There's a reason that pride is a sin, Brother. Anyway, the hard part was after I got back. There were... a lot of things, really; Hell isn't an easy place to just leave behind. Having someone control you utterly for very long isn't an easy thing to just leave behind."

"I guess it wouldn't be."

Dante fell silent again, then smiled, attempting to lighten the mood a little. "So... are you gonna teach me how to exorcise demons too?" he asked teasingly.

Vergil recognized his way out of the conversation about his past and jumped on it. "Like I said earlier, you have the subtlety of a freight train. It's not a situation where you jump in with your guns out, ready to fire."

Dante chuckled. "Eb and Ive are _always_ ready to fire."

"I suppose I could make an attempt," Vergil said, sounding like he didn't care one way or another. "I've already agreed to train Dorian. Where he got the idea to be a devil-hunter, I'll never know; he had no idea what I did while I was away on trips. He just said it one day, and since it's becoming something like a family business, I figured I couldn't tell him no."

"That's my boy," Dante said, with an ear-to-ear grin. "That's three ways he takes after his dad."

"You'll find more. He's really very much like you, especially considering that he's never met you." Vergil glanced at the clock and stood up, and Dante followed. "He will probably be well enough to get out of bed tomorrow. Maybe you two should do something together."

"Do you think he'll be healed up enough by then?" Dante asked skeptically.

"Aren't you forgetting he's part demon? And not just some lesser minion of Hell, either. You're healed almost immediately after you've been impaled with a sword. To be honest, I'm surprised it's taken him this long to heal."

"Well, I _did_ promise I'd teach him how to shoot a gun, since you apparently skipped out on that part of his training."

Vergil made a face which clearly said _insignificant human weapons_, and Dante laughed. "Maybe he'll like it. Hell, maybe it'll give us something to bond over."

* * *

**Okay, this was rather shorter than I wanted it to be, so I'm sorry about that.**

**Finally, somebody gets yelled at! Don't worry, Vergil will open up a little more as the story progresses. It seems too out of character for him to just burst out with everything that's been going on. So Dante gets enough to satisfy his curiosity for now and nothing more.**

**A couple of notes:**

**(1)Vergil, Dante, and Dorian are using an American-version Monopoly board because I happen to have that one here and that is easier than looking up what I need on the internet.  
(2)The official Monopoly rules don't say anything about Free ParkingFree Money, but a lot of people play it that way. That's the only way I've ever played it (and I play way too much Monopoly for a college student who's actually old enough to party if I want) and it seemed too weird not to include it.  
(3)Capcom is made of fail when it comes to coherent canon timelines, so I used the guideline as a guideline and came up with my own. Seven years between DMC 3 & DMC; Dante was twenty-six when he fathered Dorian, which makes him about 42 now.  
(4)I know Sparda was supposed to die way on in the twins' childhood, and their mother shortly after, but I like their characters too much not to AU this and give the boys actual memories of their parents. Angst fodder! **

**Finally, a big, enormous thank you to everyone who has reviewed, faved this story or added it to their alerts. You are all made of win in my book!**


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark. There wasn't much of a sunset, and the ruins of the castle only barely stood out against the horizon. Nelo Angelo might have noticed this, if he hadn't been Nelo Angelo in the first place. But he was, and his master had commanded that he wait inside this mirror for the devil hunter to appear, and he did so without questioning it.

There were times, and they came more frequently now, where Nelo Angelo had moments of clarity. Where he almost remembered what life was like before he served his master. He knew the most basic of things, occasionally, like the fact that his real name wasn't anything resembling what he went by. He'd had a family once. He hadn't always been alone.

And then the control that his master had over his mind would slip back into place, and he'd forget until the next time.

It was easy to assume this man's identity and float out of the mirror looking like a reflection. To watch the man's face go from confused amusement to a cocky smirk as Nelo Angelo led him out to the courtyard to fight. The lord had said the red clothed devil hunter must die, and his throat was bare beneath the knight's hand...

...and from beneath his vest slipped a red pendant, and a name which had been on the tip of his tongue, but that didn't belong to him.

Dante.

"_dante!" _he heard in his mind, through a fog,_ "dante! let's play king arthur!"_

"_'kay! you wanna be king arthur this time?"_

twin boys, white hair and bright blue eyes, running around a cardboard sword stuck between two rocks. they were laughing. one held a book in his hands, probably pilfered from their father's library. _"nope. i wanna be merlin."_

"_but he's crusty and old and boring!"_

"_and he's -smart.- i think i wanna be smart more than anything."_

Pain shot through his mind, forcing Nelo Angelo to drop his prize as his mouth opened in a scream-

-and Vergil woke up in bed, a cold sweat covering his body and making the sheets stick to his legs. He hadn't made a sound, but he was breathing harshly, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

"I am not Nelo Angelo," he said, very quietly, to the ceiling. "My name is Vergil, son of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, and no one controls me. I have a brother who is not dead and a nephew who relies on my competence."

A quick glance out the window told him that the sun had just risen not long ago, which meant that the others in the household—Dorian and Dante—would be up soon. He got up, stepping into the closet to choose his clothing for the day and then headed to take a shower.

Humiliating, that he had to chant that mantra to himself after nightmares. Humiliating that he _had_ the nightmares in the first place, really. It had been sixteen years. He fit perfectly well into human society. He had a well-paying job that he sometimes enjoyed doing and ran a household by himself. He had raised his nephew from nearly infancy. He should not be having nightmares.

By the time he descended the stairs, the cold sweat had been washed away and nobody would ever look at him and think that he suffered from the occasional nightmare. Maybe there was something that had triggered the episode—maybe it was his discussion with Dante from the night before.

He only hoped that his brother had enough sense not to mention Nelo Angelo in front of Dorian. The boy didn't know anything about his uncle's past as one of the 'bad guys,' and Vergil intended to keep it that way for as long as he could. No sense in Dorian pulling a Dante and throwing a fit about it.

_Nothing at all has changed,_ Vergil reminded himself firmly, and turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. It was Dorian, dressed and with his shoes on, though he was walking a bit slowly. "Good morning, Uncle Vergil."

"Good morning," Vergil replied, surprised to see his nephew up and about. "Are you going out today?"

"Dan—um, my father said he was going to teach me how to shoot his guns today." Dorian smiled, quickly. "After breakfast. It sounds fun... right?"

Vergil hated guns. That was the one thing he'd never adjusted to after the whole Hell thing. But he wasn't blind, and he could see the boy's grasp for his approval. So he carefully hid his disapproval for the weaponry behind a tight smile.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. Your father is a good marksman, so you'll have a good teacher."

"You think so?" Dorian replied. He brightened. "I guess it's okay then? I'm not still supposed to be in bed or anything, right?"

"You're old enough to know your limits, Dorian." He meant it as a warning as well as a compliment. Vergil knew exactly how his nephew handled pain—like his father did. Which meant, of course, he'd ignore it until he couldn't anymore and then spend twice as long recuperating from what should have been a minor injury.

Vergil would ignore the fact that he did the same thing.

"Yes, Uncle Vergil." Dorian was silent for a few minutes, taking his seat at the table across from Vergil, who watched him idly. "So my father—he's good with guns?"

"You shouldn't tell him I said so," Vergil said, a small teasing smile flickering over his lips. "It'll make him even more difficult to deal with."

Dorian grinned back, just as Dante strolled into the room. "Shouldn't tell who what?" he asked as he dropped into a chair. "You know it's not nice to keep secrets."

"Sometimes keeping the secret is the better alternative, Brother."

"Well, fine," Dante huffed, though Vergil could tell that his twin was only teasing. "Keep your secrets... and I have a few of my own that I won't bother telling."

* * *

"Step one?" Dante asked an hour later. He stood outside, slightly behind his son.

"Identify the target?" Dorian replied. He held Ebony in his right hand, pointed safely toward the ground as it hung at his side. He couldn't help but be a little nervous; he'd barely even seen a gun before, much less held one.

Dante grinned and shook his head. "Step one: make sure your weapon is loaded. You're not going to get anywhere if you don't have the muscle to back it up. Assuming you have that, then yeah, you move on to the fun stuff like identifying your target."

It was the first time Dorian had seen his father acting so seriously, more like Uncle Vergil than himself. Even when he'd been talking to Dorian for the first time, when they didn't know anything at all about each other, Dante always had some wisecrack to throw into the conversation—either to piss Dorian off or to lighten the mood. Or both.

"So do you have it?" his father asked, and Dorian looked up.

"Huh?"

"Your target. Focus, kid. Verg would have your ass _and_ mine if he thought you were 'wielding a potentially hazardous piece of weaponry without devoting the mentality to proper training,'" Dante said, throwing his voice into a perfect imitation of Dorian's uncle.

Dorian grinned, feeling himself relax. That was more like the Dante he'd seen in the past couple of days. "Sorry," he replied. "It won't happen again." He waved his free hand at a target they'd rigged. "There's the target."

"Good. Now you aim like this—don't hold your arm so stiffly, kid. It's a gun, not a live snake. Widen your stance a little. Line the target up in your sights, right down the middle. Once you have it, you can fire. Since your target's not moving, and since you're just starting, take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Dorian tried to concentrate on the target, but he couldn't seem to get his hand to hold still. Sighing, he lowered Ebony again and looked up at his father. "Can I watch you do it once?" he asked.

Smooth as butter, Dante lifted his arm, aimed Ivory at the target and then fired. The bullet hit dead-center. Uncle Vergil hadn't been lying about how good his father was at this.

And if Dante could do it, Dorian definitely could. He took a few deep breaths, and then held the last one, mimicking his father's stance and lining the target up in his sights. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger; the shot went wide and the unexpected recoil made him stumble a little. He hadn't been expecting that.

Dante caught him around the shoulders to steady him, and Dorian was surprised to hear his father laughing. "Easy, kid," he chuckled. "Sorry, I guess I forgot to mention there'd be a little kick."

"I really hate you," Dorian growled, but he didn't mean it. Now that the shock had worn off, and now that he realized everything was okay, a familiar exhilaration was catching up to him—he'd felt like this the first time he'd held a bokutou. It sucked at first, but it might actually be a lot of fun.

The only difference was that Ebony was a real weapon and not a wooden replica, and if he got hit by it, it'd do a lot more than just leave a bruise. There wasn't any first step, nothing he could do to feel like he'd earned the right to hold the gun. It just happened.

Dorian was surprised to find that he was grinning widely, and that Dante was grinning back, apparently not disappointed in his failure at all. "Again," his father said, nodding toward the target. "Tighten your grip a little this time. Keep your eyes open when you fire. And breathe."

Dorian tried it again. He wasn't as nervous the second time around, and he was prepared for the recoil. He actually managed to hit the target, though his shot wasn't anywhere near as good as his father's.

"Good," his father praised, "but do you trust that shot to save your life? Again."

Dante was worse than his uncle, Dorian decided after he'd been told "again" for about the eightieth time. He had no idea how long they'd been at it, but he wasn't ready to quit yet. His father had plenty of ammo sitting beside them and he was actually having fun, his nervousness completely gone by then.

"Having a good time?" he heard, and he jumped.

"Uncle Vergil!" Dorian gasped, spinning around to see his uncle standing next to his father. He grinned. "Yeah, it's a lot of fun... but my father's a bigger slave driver than you are. I don't think he's gonna let me quit until he's satisfied."

"Or until somebody comes to lure him away with sandwiches?" Vergil replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's lunchtime, if you want to come inside and rest a bit."

"Why don't you ever shoot guns, Uncle Vergil?" Dorian asked.

Dante started laughing. "He can't handle the fact that I'm better than him," he replied, nudging Vergil with his elbow. "He probably thinks his training was inadequate!"

"I don't think anything that stupid," Vergil argued. "Anyway, we learned on the same guns, and with the same teacher. I just prefer my sword, Dorian. It's... better suited to my fighting style."

"You learned with the same guns? These?" Dorian asked, holding Ebony up. "Who taught you?"

Dante chuckled. "Your grandpa taught us, of course," he replied. "And not those guns. I made those after he died. He had his own."

"Luce and Ombra," Vergil added. "They might as well have been these guns. My brother's not very original, I think."

"At least I'm not scared to use them," Dante taunted. "Neither is Dorian. I guess it's a damn good thing he takes after me and not you, huh? Otherwise, he'd be missing out."

"Are you gonna let him talk to you like that, Uncle Vergil?" Dorian asked, watching the exchange between the two men with interest.

"One shot, Verg. With me, for old times sake? Otherwise I'm holding the kid hostage and he's never gonna get any lunch."

Vergil smirked. "I have no doubt that Dorian can take care of himself... unlike you."

"Verrrrr-gilllll!"

Vergil snorted. "Some example you're setting. Fine, one shot and one only. Dorian, may I have that, please?"

Dante brightened, and Dorian was all too happy to hand Ebony over to his uncle and step out of the way. Both brothers aimed at the target, neither looking at each other, but they moved perfectly in sync. Like this, they were nearly identical, and Dorian realized that being twins meant more than just looking like each other and sharing a birthday.

"Jackpot," the twins said in unison, and fired. Both hit dead center and Dante laughed.

"You still got it, Verg."

Vergil huffed as he handed the gun back and turned to Dorian. "I'm not sure which is bigger, Dorian—your father's ego, or his mouth."

"Ouch!"

* * *

**I'm very sorry it's taken me this long to update this! I've been sick, and concentrating on anything at all with a plotline hasn't exactly been on the top of my priority list. So as a result, this is rather shorter than I wanted it to be, but I suppose it will do.**

**I realize there's a lot of weapon-geekery in this chapter. Sorry about that. It'll get interesting again, I promise. Also, quick note: I realize that Dante's guns in the game are magic, and that he never has to reload or make sure he's doing okay on ammo, but that's not realistic. I also realize that I made Dante teach Dorian a proper stance for shooting. Despite the fact that he's Dante and he's not exactly the model that should be followed, I figure he's probably good enough to know what he -should- be doing. It's always better to learn the right way and build off of that, after all!**

**I hope you all enjoy this!**


	6. Chapter 6

"You're not concentrating, Dorian," Vergil scolded, dropping his stance and tugging his mask over his head.

A second later, Dorian followed, his face rosy and damp from the mask. "Sorry, Uncle Vergil. It feels like forever since we've done this."

"It has been a while," Vergil conceded. Maybe two weeks was a little too long to neglect his training, but he hadn't wanted to push it too soon after Dorian got hurt and then he overlooked it a while longer in order to give Dorian and Dante a chance to bond. "You've never really liked fencing anyway."

Dorian looked sheepish. "I didn't know it was obvious."

"Your father never liked it much either."

Dorian perked up; he enjoyed hearing about his father when he'd been younger. It was a recent development, really. For a long time, he'd get angry anytime someone dared to mention he had a father. Now, they were getting along well (even though Dante tended to act like Dorian was a younger brother, not a son), and things had changed a little.

"That's because everybody looks a little like a fairy, jumping around on their toes and swinging that foil around," Dante interjected as he showed up just outside their training area, looking back and forth between his brother and his son. "Épée," he corrected himself, glancing at their weapons. "But that's not to say that footwork isn't important. Sometimes you come across an enemy where it gets to be a big thing, like when I had to fight-"

He cut himself off, glancing quickly at Vergil, who had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say. Dante smiled weakly. "Hell, I don't remember that guy's name. Wasn't important anyway," he said carelessly. "Anyway, kid, this one guy I had to fight was all about fancy footwork, so I was kind of glad I had to learn it."

"Do you want to fence against Dorian?" Vergil asked, offering his épée.

"Don't have any of my gear," Dante replied as he shrugged his shoulders.

"The last time I checked, we were the same size," Vergil pointed out, dryly.

Dante sighed and took the fencing sword, watching as Vergil tugged his gear off and handed it over. "You'll be evenly matched this way," he said as Dante pulled the jacket and glove on, tucking the mask under his arm as he looked around. "I'll judge."

"It's been forever since I've fenced," Dante murmured as he tugged the mask on. He waited for Dorian to follow suit, they crisply saluted each other, and then Vergil, and the match began.

Dorian lazily reached out, touching the point of his épée to his father's forearm.

"Point," Vergil called, smirking.

Dante's mouth dropped open, and he turned to look at his brother. "What?" he asked.

"Your whole body is a valid target area," Dorian reminded him smugly. "Or did you forget the rules in your old age?"

"Hey! Didn't your uncle teach you to respect your elders?"

"You got the 'elder' part right," Dorian taunted. "Too old to fence with me? C'mon! I'll go easy on you."

"Oh, you're on, kid. I'll show you old! And we'll see who has to go easy!"

The taunt worked, and they fenced like they were possessed until Vergil called an end to it two hours later. He had to admit to himself that he was impressed—he'd never seen either of them work so hard, all without one complaint about the exercise being a waste of time and without asking for a break.

"C'mon, Uncle Vergil," Dorian said as they pulled their masks off. Both of them were sweaty and, Vergil guessed, more tired than they let on. "We haven't figured out who won yet."

"You can continue your fencing match next week. We've gone through dinner and neither of you have fenced in a long time, so it wouldn't do any good to tire your muscles." It was getting dark, actually, and Vergil's stomach was rumbling so he knew the other two had to be hungry.

They headed for the house together, Dante throwing an arm around his companions' shoulders. Vergil started to tell him off for rubbing his sweat everywhere, but caught Dorian's happy look out of the corner of his eye and shut his mouth.

He sighed instead, glancing over at both of them with a small smile. "How about we order pizza tonight?" It was the one thing they all had in common, really—pizza toppings. It seemed trivial, but every little bit helped.

They looked overjoyed. "Ah, Verg, I could kiss you," Dante said rapturously.

Vergil peeled Dante's arm off of him, ducking away. "Get off. You're not going to kiss me."

Dante, unperturbed, just tightened the arm around Dorian's neck and winked at his son, playfully. "C'mon, you know I'm your favorite little brother."

"My only little brother, thank whatever deity is listening," Vergil muttered in reply, but he knew Dante was aware that he was just teasing. "If I had to put up with two of you, I would have probably died early."

"I wasn't _that_ bad!"

"Oh, sure. You wouldn't sleep in your own bed at all until you were eight."

"I had a lot of bad dreams!" Dante shot back in retaliation. "Besides, you told me you didn't mind!"

"I didn't. You'd keep me awake if you weren't sleeping with someone, anyway," Vergil answered. "Dorian had nightmares too, though he didn't sleep with me very often." Maybe the whole family was prone to nightmares, Vergil thought, but he didn't say.

"You weren't home too much, and my nurse never let me sleep with her. You didn't seem to mind that much," Dorian said. He shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned. He hadn't slept with his uncle for ten years, at least, and he'd been little. What was there to be ashamed about?

* * *

They'd all showered, gathered to eat the pizza that Vergil had delivered (thin crust, extra cheese and _no olives under any circumstances_) and play a game of Scrabble with dinner. Vergil had beaten them both, which didn't really surprise anybody, and he'd endured his brother's taunts about being a walking dictionary without taking the bait. After dinner, they'd gone their separate ways, Dante and Dorian going to watch a movie or something, while Vergil went to the study to catch up on his neglected business.

He left the door open, every so often catching the laughter or snippets of conversation coming from the other room, but he only looked up when Dorian came in. "Did your movie end?"

Dorian nodded, glancing nervously around the study, and Vergil realized he hadn't been in there since he'd been stabbed. "What're you working on? Are you going to take another case?"

"I'm considering it. This one's a private matter, a family nearby. A son and a daughter, both under the age of ten."

Dorian winced. He'd always been more sympathetic to the victims than his uncle—Vergil only wanted the demons gone, and to deal with them, and leave the sympathy to the family and the doctors. "Which one's possessed?" he asked.

Vergil took a deep breath. "The father. If I take the job, I'll probably bring you along. And your father, if he's willing." He didn't usually take private jobs. In the institutions, there were always plenty of ways to restrain the humans while he worked. He didn't get paid well if they were injured, institutions were always reluctant to hire someone who wasn't careful, and demons were notorious for using their host's body to take the damage for them.

Dorian's eyes lit up and Vergil had to hold back a smile. Vergil knew he'd been waiting a long time to hear that he was old enough to go along on a trip. "I hope you decide to take the job."

"I'll think about it," Vergil promised. "You realize that there will be a lot of research and preparation involved. With small children around, there has to be a reason the demon chose the father instead of one of them."

"I'm sure you'll make the right decision. Anyway, I came in to tell you goodnight."

"Goodnight, Dorian. I'll see you tomorrow." Vergil smiled briefly, standing up from his desk to turn around and grab a book from the shelf, flipping through the aged and yellow pages to find something he'd remembered while reading the file.

"And... Uncle Vergil?"

"Yes, Dorian?" Vergil replied without looking up from the book.

"I also wanted to say thanks."

_That_ made Vergil look up, and he frowned at the bookshelf for a second or so before turning his head to glance at his nephew. "For...?"

Dorian shrugged, clearly embarrassed as he stared at the floor. "Everything. I don't know, I just kinda realized I'd never said it and that maybe I should've. Anyway... 'night."

Dorian took off, leaving Vergil to stare after him, bewildered. He'd never expected an actual thank you—it was an odd lesson to learn; gratitude didn't always have to be spoken to be present. Dorian sometimes did unexplainable things like that, and Vergil had given up trying to figure out why. He shook his head, turning back to his book.

"What'd you do to my kid?" he heard from behind him, and he smirked.

"Since he's your son, I don't have to do anything. He's like that without my help."

Dante laughed quietly. "You busy?"

Vergil nodded. "Stay if you like," he added as Dante started to back out of the study. "I could use another opinion on this file I'm looking at." He didn't, actually, but he and his brother had been getting along fairly well since Dante had moved in.

Dante looked excited at the idea and Vergil was glad he offered. "What is it? One of your exorcisms?" he asked, as he dropped down in a chair.

"Not yet. I haven't decided if I'm going to do it—I'm just looking over the material right now." He closed the file and handed it over to Dante. He knew his brother was experienced enough that he didn't have to stand over him and point out the significant parts, so he went back to the book while Dante read.

"It's weird that it'd go after the dad and not the kids," was all Dante said when he'd finished reading. "You think it's a trap?"

"Most demons who stoop to possession aren't quite smart enough to lay out a trap," Vergil replied dryly. "But it is odd. If I took it, you and Dorian would both have the option of coming along. I'd probably need your help; it's not as easy in a home as it is in an institution."

"You know I'm in. You think Dorian's ready?" Dante asked, and Vergil could have sworn he heard a small amount of parental concern in Dante's voice.

"He thinks he's ready. I'd rather take him along with both of us, if I had the option. But he isn't a child anymore, and he'll resent it if we insist on treating him like one."

Dante nodded. It was his son, and something in him didn't want to put the kid in danger before he'd gotten to do anything fun in life, but he understood what Vergil was saying. "So what're you looking for?" he asked, nodding at the book Vergil was still holding.

"Something the demon said. I know I've read it before, I just can't remember where."

Dante frowned. "That's kinda odd for you. You remember everything you've read." He watched his brother silently for a few minutes, then shrugged. "Maybe you'll know after you've slept on it."

"Maybe." Vergil sighed in defeat and pushed the book back onto the shelf before sliding into his seat. Dante was sitting across the desk from him, ankle resting on his knee as he gazed back, obviously studying Vergil for... something. "What is it?" he asked at last, tired of the silent staring contest.

"Just wondering why you'd let Dorian sleep with you when he was little," Dante replied quietly. "You've really changed a lot, Verg. It was one thing when we were both kids, but I never saw you as the paternal type."

And it had been a surprise to Vergil too, when he'd gone home to check up on things and woken up to find the toddler in bed with him. He slept like Dante had, before Dante had learned that Vergil honestly didn't mind—curled into a ball, taking up the least amount of space that he possibly could, and teetering on the edge of the bed. He'd slept like the dead, and it was only when Vergil sat up that he'd noticed the boy's puffy eyes and tear stained face. He'd intended to lecture the boy, explain that he should stay in his own bed, but it had been Dorian's resemblance to Dante that stopped him. So Vergil had sighed, given in and moved Dorian away from the edge. Just a little.

"He was a lot like you," was Vergil's response.

Dante smiled back. "Hey, look," he said suddenly, straightening up. "I came in here because I have something for you. Come upstairs with me."

Vergil stood just inside his room, perplexed but curious as Dante pulled his canvas bag from the closet.

"Stop looking at me like that, I've unpacked," Dante said as he sat the bag down carefully beside his bed. "Get in here, and shut the door. The kid has something in here too, but he doesn't know it yet."

Vergil obeyed, coming closer as Dante began to untie the bag. "What are you going to give Dorian?" he asked.

"Rebellion. I like the sword, but I like the idea of passing it down again, too. And it's not like I don't have plenty more."

And he did. He laid them out on the bed one by one as he pulled them out of the bag. Force Edge. Alastor. Agni and Rudra. Cerberus. Ifrit. Beowulf. Ebony and Ivory, a collection of other arms. He certainly wasn't lacking in weaponry at all.

"Here it is," Dante said at last, and Vergil's breath caught in his throat.

Because his twin held Yamato, was holding it out to him expectantly. Offering it. Vergil hardly dared to move, worried suddenly that this was Dante's disgusting idea of a joke. But even Dante wasn't that cruel; he knew how much their father's sword had meant to him.

Reverently, Vergil touched the hilt, running his hand over it once before taking it from Dante and popping it from its sheath, inspecting every inch of the blade. "I was under the impression that this was broken," was all he could say at first.

"It was," Dante replied. Into about seven pieces, really. "I fixed it." It had been Yamato, in fact, that had brought him out of the drunken depression he'd fallen into.

_He'd been wandering the streets, too drunk for any bar to let him in but not wanting to go home. He wished he could get lost. He thought that Lady and Trish were probably right when they said he acted like he had a death wish. He wished it was a little easier to kill him._

_He saw the man standing there, off to the side, and he looked more like a demon than a human. Dante smirked, drunkenly; maybe a good fight would make him feel better. But the guy in the overcoat and scarf only nodded at him, grumbled something to himself and said clearly, "Got somethin' for ya, strangah." _

_He pulled it out of his overcoat, a tattered, grimy piece of gray cloth. "Don't know why, just seems you oughta have it," he explained, and pushed the bundle into Dante's hands. It clanged suspiciously._

_Dante pulled a corner open; his breath caught when he realized what it was. But when he looked back up to demand where this man had gotten exactly what Dante had spent so long looking for, he was alone._

"I put it back together, cleaned it, rewrapped the hilt," Dante explained as Vergil looked the weapon over with a critical eye. "It took me a long time but... I don't know, I probably didn't do it quite right."

"You did a good job," Vergil replied, sheathing the sword. "But, Dante..." He knew he didn't deserve it. Dante had done an outstanding job, in fact, maybe better than Vergil could have done. He'd cared for the sword for years, done better than Vergil had when he'd lost it to Mundus. When he'd watched Mundus snap it in half. It was the last thing he remembered before he'd walked out of Hell, when Mundus' control over his mind had broken and he was free to remember it again.

"Don't, Verg," Dante argued. "It's your sword. Our father gave it to _you,_ and it... _likes_ you, don't tell me you can't feel it." It would be a lie to say he didn't. "So just keep it, Verg, I took care of it and kept it for you, and I want you to take it."

He knew Dante was right, that was the problem. And he wanted Yamato back, another problem. In the end, he nodded. "Dante... thank you."

* * *

**My apologies for taking so long to update! I had a monster under my bed, you see, a giant, demonic (no joke) bunny, and I had to negotiate and befriend him before I could go on. But I found out that his name was Plot Development, and after he went back home (with plenty of chocolate), I was able to work on this again.**

**No, seriously, real life is so much less fun to deal with than fanfiction. **

**Anyway, to make it up to you, this is almost 1000 words longer than a normal update! (No updates for a while? Great! Authoress can't shut up!)  
In case you were wondering and you caught the reference, yes, that's the Merchant! I needed a convenient character, and at least he's Capcom's!**

**I hope you all enjoy this, and as always, thanks to all the readers, reviewers, and favoriters! You guys are awesome!**


	7. Chapter 7

Dante didn't usually have trouble sleeping. He'd been through that more times than he cared to admit, even to himself. But tonight, he couldn't keep his eyes closed. He had too much to think about.

He'd returned Yamato to Vergil, which was something he never thought he'd be able to do. Vergil had almost accepted it without saying that he didn't deserve it, which was something he never thought would happen. He'd met his son, someone he'd never expected to even exist.

And okay, maybe the son didn't feel exactly like a son—not that Dante knew what fatherhood was supposed to feel like. His father was dead by the time he was old enough to think about that kind of thing. Vergil had stepped in, but Vergil wasn't his father, no matter how much he'd tried to fill that role.

Dante remembered watching Vergil, his onetime playmate and best friend, drowning in a position he wasn't ready to fill. He'd tried so hard, and he'd failed, and Dante hated his father for that. Vergil shouldn't have had to try. And Dante would have to be completely stupid to miss the fact that his brother was still trying.

He gave up on even pretending to sleep, and kicked the blankets off of his legs to sit up. A quick glance at the clock told him it was almost 5am. No point in even trying, then. A nice, long shower would probably be better at this point than a couple hours of sleep. He'd just be groggy and he needed to be sharp today. They had a full one planned.

Something rattled. Dante froze, slowly backing out of the closet and heading noiselessly to the bedside table where his handgun was resting. Ebony in hand, he headed for the door. He could still hear the rustling, but couldn't quite identify its source. He figured it probably wasn't any of Vergil's household staff; he'd gotten used to the noises they made.

Dorian was still asleep. His door, across from Dante's, was still shut and if he stood still and listened, he could hear his son's even breathing.

The noise was coming from Vergil's room. Dante moved on, confused now. He might have been able to hear things that ordinary people couldn't thanks to his demon heritage, but Vergil had the market cornered on that. He should've already been awake.

Confused, Dante let the handgun dangle at his side as his hand hovered over the doorknob. This wasn't right. It sounded like Vergil was in real trouble, and Dante didn't think anyone else was in the room....

He opened the door.

Vergil was asleep, alone. He was frowning, mumbling and tossing. A nightmare. It figured, Dante thought sourly. He'd chased down a fucking _bad dream._ Having his handgun on him now seemed a little stupid, not heroic.

"Dante!"

His head jerked up. Vergil was still sleeping, but still, he couldn't stop the answer before it came out. "Verg?"

His twin's eyes popped open immediately. He was gasping, but alert as he took in Dante's relaxed stance. His eyes settled on Ebony, held loosely in his right hand, before dropping to his bare feet and moving back up.

"Sorry, I thought you were in trouble... are you okay? You look like shit."

Vergil didn't answer right away. Dante was going to leave, but he noticed the cold sweat on his brother's forehead and something kept him locked to the spot. He wasn't going to leave until Vergil answered the question, not this time. "Vergil!"

"For God's sake, Dante, shut the door before Dorian sees."

* * *

Dante had dropped Ebony on Vergil's table and settled on the edge of his bed a while ago, for the moment just fine with watching his brother try to collect himself. It'd been too long since he'd had the opportunity to just _sit_ with Vergil, without arguing or fighting or even having to talk, really. And today, he was going to sit there without arguing or fighting or having to talk until he got Vergil to tell him what the living hell was going on.

"This has to do with Nelo Angelo, doesn't it?" he blurted.

Well, so much for his genius plan. His big mouth ruined that. Oh well, no taking it back now.

Vergil studied him, obviously debating on whether or not he wanted to say something. "Yes," he said at last. Apparently, Dante had proven himself trustworthy. "I appreciate that you didn't mention... my past to Dorian yesterday. I would prefer to keep it that way. Nobody in this house knows anything."

"He's never even heard the name?"

Vergil shrugged. "He's heard it. He hasn't made the connection. Dorian believes that I'm one of the good guys, you know. More your style than mine."

"Don't you think that it'd help if you talked about it? I don't ever remember seeing you like this, Verg. It's not right."

"I can't talk about it."

"Goddamn it, Vergil! You're a real piece of work, you know that? I'm trying to be nice here, but I'm beginning to wonder if it's not just a waste of time!" Dante snapped. "I'm sick and fucking tired of your bullshit."

"Keep your voice down, Dante. I can't talk about it because I can't remember anything."

Dante, for once, took his own advice and kept his mouth shut. He glared at his brother, this time determined to keep his stony silence until Vergil cut the shit.

"Don't look at me like that. The last thing I remember is Mundus snapping Yamato into pieces. I don't know how long I was there, I can't remember exactly when I started fighting the control Mundus had over my mind. When I sleep, I dream about it, and it's always about _you _and how we fought back then and what was going through my head. That's all I remember. I was going to kill you and then, 'Dante, let's play King Arthur.' It's an insignificant detail, but that's it."

Dante smiled a little. Finally, progress. It'd been too tense lately, and it was about time Vergil said something to somebody. "You always wanted to be Merlin," he remembered, grinning. "All brains, fighting from the background."

"You enjoyed the physical fighting more than I did," Vergil answered. He stared at his bedspread, too lost in thought to meet Dante's eyes. "You probably always will. That suits you." He was quiet for a few minutes, then kept talking. "I suppose that makes me lucky. You didn't kill Mundus—I'm not sure that's possible—but you weakened him enough for me to remember who I was. I should thank you for that."

"Only doing what I should've done," Dante replied, a little embarrassed at the uncharacteristic statement from his brother. Vergil must have slept like shit, too. "You think he could still control you?"

Vergil thought about that for a bit before answering. "I don't know," he said at last. "I can remember every minute of every day since then. I don't think I'd be able to remember it if he were controlling me."

"I don't think he will," Dante continued. "Mundus would know you'd be expecting it. You've always been too smart to fall for the same trick twice. And you were in Hell for seven years, by the way. Before I saw you as Nelo Angelo, anyway."

"Seven years."

They were silent after that. The sun was starting to rise and light was streaking into Vergil's bedroom. Dante knew that before long, Dorian would be awake, so he should be leaving, but he was feeling more like his brother's friend than he had since they were seven or eight years old.

"Can I have Dorian today?"

"He's your son," Vergil replied, frowning. "You don't have to ask."

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm pretty sure you still have legal custody, don't you? Besides, you're all into training... I wanna have some fun."

"Like I said... he's your son. It's a good idea for you to bond. It's good for him to hang out with you; you had no idea how much he wanted to know you when he was younger."

"I can't change the past, Verg."

"I know. Anyway, he's happier with you around. But he's also scared you'll leave again."

Now it was Dante's turn to stare at the bedspread. It was his chance to be better than his own father—given the opportunity to leave, Dante would stay. "That... isn't in my plan. It's hard to imagine myself as a dad, but every day I stay it's harder to imagine going back to the way things were."

"Take it from me, Dante, there is no going back to the way things were. Even if you walked out the door, you wouldn't be able to forget that you have a son who is living with your estranged brother."

"Estranged?" Dante murmured. "I don't think we're estranged anymore."

He looked up just in time to catch the barest hint of a smile grace Vergil's lips before his brother stood up, turning his back on Dante. "I'm going to take a shower. I suggest you do the same. We'll have breakfast, and then you go have fun with your son. What do you plan on doing with him?"

Dante grinned, reaching to grab Ebony and twirl it around in his hand. "I'm gonna teach him how to drive."

Vergil nodded. "There are cars in the garage. You can take your pick."

"That's no fun," Dante answered as he stood to leave, his hand on the doorknob.

"Then what do you plan to use?"

"My bike. You have a nice shower, Verg."

* * *

**Sorry. Just... I'm sorry.**


	8. Intermezzo

Dorian thought that he'd never had so much fun, and he hadn't even done anything yet. It must've been a side effect of his father showing up—the fact that he was turning into something like a daredevil.

Uncle Vergil had always been cautious with him to a fault. He wasn't babying, but he definitely didn't ever let Dorian get anywhere near something as exhilarating and frightening as his father's motorcycle. Dante was definitely the more reckless of the twins when it came to his son (ironic, considering how they'd met), and it showed at times like this.

It wasn't that his father was actively trying to get him killed. When he'd taught Dorian how to shoot, it had been in a perfectly safe and controlled situation—even if Dorian himself felt a little threatened by the whole thing. And now, though he was sitting on something his uncle would call a "crotch rocket" on bad days and "death on two wheels" on the good ones, he knew that his father was doing everything he could to see that he wouldn't get hurt. That was the point of the helmet, and the gloves, and the coat that was slightly too big, and the two-hour-long lecture.

"Okay, I think you're ready to go," Dante said, and he let go of the bike. "Just remember what I said."

"I got it," Dorian replied. "Brake, balance, bike is replaceable but I'm not." He cracked a grin. "Wreck if I need to, just as long as you get to wake up in the morning and see my pretty face."

Dante chuckled. "You're all right, kid," he muttered, and rapped the top of the helmet with his knuckles. Louder, he said, "You stay where I can see you, got that?" At his son's nod, he stepped back. "Okay, go."

Dorian went. He made it about fifty yards before he crashed. Spectacularly. Thanks to the helmet, he didn't crack his skull open—just knocked his head on the ground a little. He blinked, a little dazed, and then felt someone dragging him up into a sitting position.

He was grinning when Dante pulled the helmet off. "You okay?"

"That was _awesome. _Can I do it again?"

Four and a half hours later, they finally called it quits, working their way back to the house. Dorian hadn't seriously injured himself, but he was covered in dirt, and all the protective gear had prevented most of the small scratches he would've gotten otherwise. The bike was a little worse for wear, but Dante didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked almost as happy as Dorian felt.

His uncle was waiting for them, which didn't surprise his father as much as he expected it to. "Sorry to ruin your day of fun," Vergil said, looking down at them from the porch. "It seems that exorcism I was considering has become a little more important than I thought. If you're both still willing to assist, I could use your help."

Dorian couldn't help himself; he pumped his fist in the air with a cheer. His uncle looked at him like he was trying to keep from laughing, and his father just shook his head, a grin on his face.

"You're filthy. Did you teach him how to ride that beast, Dante, or just how to roll around on the ground?" Uncle Vergil asked.

His father laughed.

"C'mon, Uncle Vergil, it's not Dad's fault I can't keep my balance." The sentence slipped out without Dorian's permission, but it felt natural enough that neither of the two older men flinched. At least, not that he could catch.

There was a minute or two of silence, then Vergil sighed. "Given the number of dangerous activities you were involved in when you were younger, I'm surprised your balance isn't perfect." He jerked his head toward the house, a small smile. "Get inside and get yourself cleaned up, and be in my study in fifteen minutes if you intend to help this time around."

Dorian didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

**Why is this so short? Because it marks the end of the fluffy, happy shit and the beginning of the seriously weird shit that will finish off this story. Hopefully in a few chapters, because this wasn't meant to get so damn epic on me. **

**I used some references to finish up the next couple chapters, which will be the end of the story. I don't own these things, either (though I do own copies of the books):  
Monsters: An Investigator's Guide to Magical Beings by John Michael Greer (specifically, the sections on Demons and Angels);  
A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, and other Subversive Spirits by Carol K. Mack & Dinah Mack (specifically, Psyche);  
Mysteries of the World: Unexplained Wonders and Mysterious Phenomena by Herbert Genzmer & Ulrich Hellenbrand (specifically, the sections on Exorcism and Grimoires);  
The Cthulhu Mythos by HP Lovecraft (which is really a universe of short stories all set in the same general universe as The Call of Cthulhu, which will be quoted in an upcoming chapter);  
_possibly_ passing references to The Divine Comedy (naturally, because in this fandom you can't _not_) and The Aeneid.**

**The demons all already exist (if you believe in that sort of thing, anyway) in religious texts and cultural mythology, with a little bit of artistic license. That, or they belong to Lovecraft. I'll explain those as they appear. In other words, I didn't make them up, but I did play with them a little.  
**

**I think that covers everything.  
**


	9. Chapter 8

While Dorian took a shower to wash the dirt and grime off, Dante helped Vergil set up a round table in the center of his study, then found himself stacking books on top of it. He didn't care why they needed so many books—that had always been Vergil's way of dealing with things. But why they needed some of the popular fiction he'd been throwing on top of that table, he had no idea.

"Dante, there's something I need to tell you," Vergil began, somewhat uncertainly. It made Dante look up, because Vergil was very rarely uncertain about anything.

"I'm listening," he said at last. It had to be something concerning Nelo Angelo; that was the only subject Vergil seemed unwilling to discuss in front of his nephew. Since Vergil was so obstinate about it, the only help he could get in that department at all came from Dante.

"I think I remember what that phrase was. The one I was looking for." He hesitated, then sat down, keeping his eyes focused on Dante's boots. "You were right, I never forget the things I read, unless I've forgotten the entire circumstance. I think I read it in Hell—Mundus had this habit of carving things into walls, arches... sometimes skin... whatever surface he could find, really. He had a particular favorite that he required his soldiers to remember. He'd recite it, or have it written, in a dead demon language. _That's_ how I read it, and _that's_ why I can't remember reading it. Because I can't remember anything."

"Makes sense," was all Dante was able to say before Dorian knocked lightly on the door.

"You guys start without me?" Dorian teased, plopping down in the other chair.

There was a tense moment, where it was obvious that Vergil had no idea what to say. Dante grinned, reaching over to muss Dorian's freshly washed hair. "Just reviewing the case a little, kid. I'm sure you're so excited that you don't need a refresher. Your uncle Verg was just getting to this stupid phrase he's been researching."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dante watched his brother relax. "The possessed man continually repeats a phrase in a dead language, which—if my translation is correct-"

"-and there's no reason it shouldn't be, nerd," Dante teased.

Vergil rolled his eyes. "-_if_ the translation is correct, what he's saying is 'we live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity.'"

The revelation didn't quite go over the way he expected. Dorian gave him a completely blank stare, and Dante just looked at him like he'd finally cracked.

Impatiently, he huffed. "Do neither of you pick up a book? Honestly."

"No, I get it," Dante said slowly. "Lovecraft, right?"

Now it was everyone's turn to stare at _him._

"Assholes. I _can_ read," Dante reminded them. "And unless my memory's really going, I think that Vergil and I had to read the same shit when we were kids. What doesn't make any sense is a stupid, low-level minion of Hell quoting something from a work of fiction."

"But it makes perfect sense," Vergil argued. "Mundus believes that humanity's ignorance of the Underworld is his greatest asset. How else does he corrupt so many souls so easily? The nonbelievers write off their possession symptoms as a mental illness and it goes untreated. They don't understand that a demon could attack them, and so they don't take any precautions. It's a quick and easy way to get his business done. _That's_ why he liked that quotation in particular. Any demon with a tongue in Hell knows this quotation by heart, and lives by it. How could it be interpreted? 'We live on a placid island of ignorance...,'"

"How do you know what the emperor of Hell is up to, Uncle Vergil? You sound like you have personal experience."

"I've been in this business for a very long time," Vergil replied dryly. "And, as you will see, the beings that you will be dealing with, Dorian, are not always the smartest creatures in creation."

"And he reads some really weird shit. And he was dropped on his head as a baby. Several times," Dante added. He didn't know if he was joking or not. "Really, Vergil? _Really?_ Mundus reads Lovecraft?"

"I don't know that he ever _read _it, but pride _is _a sin, remember? And the Cthuhlu Mythos is not entirely fiction. Most of it, most definitely—but Lovecraft had some of it right."

"So Cthuhlu really exists?" Dorian asked, a frown on his face. "That's gonna suck."

"No, that part was most definitely fictional. But Lovecraft makes a reference to a 'god' named Azathoth, a swirling mass who ruled the Other Gods. Does that sound familiar, Dante? You've seen Mundus."

Dorian was staring at him. "You met the _emperor of Hell?_" he asked, disbelief written on his face. "How _cool._"

"Just hope that's not a trend that needs to be repeated," Dante replied, still staring at Vergil. "That son of a bitch got himself mentioned in a book like this?"

"The second half of the problem is the class of demon we're dealing with. I know that I just said that any demon with a tongue could quote this phrase, but usually, the lower demons have demands. It makes them feel powerful to think that they can bend humans to their will. This demon has no demands—whenever these ignorant people tried to speak to it, he just quotes the phrase and then laughs."

"And giggling at Lovecraft makes him intelligent because...?"

"It _doesn't. _But what if Mundus is sending a message?"

"Wait a second," Dorian interrupted, leaning forward. "I know I'm kind of a newbie or whatever here, but didn't you say that only stupid demons usually possessed people? And I don't know if the king of the demon world counts as stupid."

Dante felt his chest swell with pride. "The kid's right."

"But it isn't Mundus directly possessing. If I'm right, it's the Messenger of Azathoth. Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos. And the only other demon Lovecraft happened to get right."

"If that's true, then who's the message meant for?" Dorian asked. "Nobody around here is an agent of Mundus."

Dante almost winced. _Eventually, you're gonna have to tell him, Verg,_ he thought.

"But there _are_ only three demons living in the nearby area," Vergil pointed out. "And this case is sure to get someone's attention, if they know what to look for. A fairly pious family, with two children under the age of ten, and the one to become the actual victim is the father? It doesn't make sense to the people who understand possession. Recitation of one phrase over and over—even to the point of obsession—doesn't warrant an exorcism in the church's eyes. The only choice that the family has is to turn to us."

They were silent, mulling this over. "So... what? We stroll in and say 'what's up, Nyarly, we hear you got a message for us'?" Dante asked sarcastically.

Vergil shook his head. "We handle it as we would any other exorcism. Drive the demon out, hopefully with little or no harm to the human party, and see if we can get it to speak with us. If it really did come to deliver a message, then that shouldn't be too difficult."  


* * *

**Lovecraft was pretty much cited in-text, but the quotation is from The Call of Cthulhu, and the whole thing goes like this: "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far." Clearly, Mundus takes his favorite quotes a little out of context. ;)**


End file.
